Behind the curtains was pitch darkness, and as the four of them stepped in, abruptly, a strange wind blew the curtains down, lighting two candles in the darkness—lit by no one, they ignited on their own.
In such a situation, the pitch blackness was somehow more comforting than the dim, flickering candlelight.
The candle flames danced, casting everything in the room in shadow and light.
The walls were covered with ivy, which was withered; the leaves had long since turned a dry yellow.
Xiangxiang, with her sharp eyes, pointed to one of the dried leaves. "That one! It's dripping blood!"
Looking in the direction she pointed, they could see the sharp, triangular leaves of the ivy gleaming coldly, as if they were edged with sharp needles, and blood was dripping... drip by drip down from the tips.
The blood that dripped onto the ground was instantly absorbed by the soil, giving the feeling that they were standing in a desolate wilderness.
